


Experimenting

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-03
Updated: 2010-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:11:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John woke up naked in an unfamiliar bed with a strangely familiar man leaning over him. "Don't move," Sherlock said. "I'm about to conduct an experiment."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Experimenting

John woke up slowly, in the midst of a haze of pleasant warmth. That in itself was strange; normally, heat reminded his body of Afghanistan and the interminable hell of scorching summers where you were lucky if you stayed in the shade and the temperature stayed in the thirties, and if you weren’t lucky you were dead. He hurt all over, but it was nothing like the stiffening pain in his joints and muscles he remembered all too well from the first weeks after his discharge. Instead he felt limber with the kind of ache that came with exercise and reminded you just what your body had accomplished and why you ought to be proud of it. It was a pain, but it was also a pleasure, and one he hadn’t felt in too long.

He sleepily racked his mind for the last time he’d really exerted himself, since the war, and smiled vaguely at the memory of climbing up and down buildings and racing through the streets of London with his devil of a flatmate, a wicked grin plastered on his face the whole time. Living with Sherlock was going to keep John in pretty good shape. But that escapade had been months ago. Surely there had to have been some more recent exertion…

It was at this moment that John became conscious enough to remember exactly what had happened last night.

“John? You’re blushing.”

The voice, deep and low and utterly distracting, conjured more memories of the previous evening, and if he had not been blushing before, John certainly was now. God, he was going to kill that man—but first, he was going to put some clothes on.

He tried to sit up and roll off the edge of this bed that wasn’t his, so that he could go about the delicate process of collecting and reassembling fragments of his clothing and his (formerly quite certain) sexual identity, but a slim-fingered hand rested on his chest and pushed him back down onto the bed with more firmness than John would have expected from Sherlock (at least, before last night). “Don’t move,” Sherlock said, in that maddeningly dispassionate and authoritative tone that infuriated normal people even as it made them listen.

“Why?” John asked, trying to distract himself from the sudden surge of pleasure brought about by simple contact.

The mattress shifted under him, and the pressure on John’s chest momentarily increased, until he blinked the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes to see Sherlock’s lean, pale form balanced over him, those perfect lips quirked up in a grin. “I’m about to conduct an experiment,” he said.

John wondered what last night counted as, if not experimenting. “And you need _me_ for this—experiment?”

A small furrow formed between Sherlock’s eyebrows as he said, “I thought the events of last night would have made that obvious.” And before John could protest, Sherlock leaned down and captured his lips with a fast, deep, messy kiss. The sensation of it ran like liquid fire along John’s limbs, and it was a minute before he could so much as move a hand up to pull the other man closer.

He felt a hand around his wrist, forcing his arm back down by his side. “I told you not to move. It upsets the experimental control.”

“And what,” panted John, “is the purpose of this experiment?”

Sherlock fixed those piercing blue eyes on him and said, “I am given to understand that when one enters into a relationship of a sexual nature, the purpose is _pleasure_.”

John couldn’t help it, he groaned and felt himself stiffen at the predatory confidence imbued in that last word.

“In this case, the independent variable,” Sherlock explained, bending his head to place a soft kiss at the edge of John’s right collarbone, just where it met his shoulder, “is sensory stimulus. It can be tactile,” kissing along the bone until he made it to the hollow of John’s throat, “auditory, visual—you understand.”

John had studied biology at university, and written numerous experiment reports in the process, but each kiss Sherlock pressed to his torso, combined with the low seductive hum of his voice, made that classroom logic more and more distant by the second. “And the dependent variable?” he asked, his voice steady until the last syllable turned into a gasp as Sherlock interrupted the procession of kisses with a small, fierce bite.

Sherlock paused his progress along John’s body to look up at him, and there was a hunger in those eyes that made John shudder, even before Sherlock slid a slim finger down the length of John’s cock and said, “Your arousal.”

“Oh, god,” John said, struggling to maintain control while the pleasure of the touch spread through him in waves and Sherlock returned his mouth to its methodical progression down John’s body. He gave up trying to move, just watched as Sherlock sucked and kissed and bit and licked his way across his stomach on his way to the subtle ridge of his pelvic bone, and when John moaned it sounded like someone else. He was so hard now, he was sure he would burst at the slightest touch—

Sherlock paused with his lips inches from John’s groin, and caught John’s gaze, and didn’t look away as he slowly and deliberately closed his lips around John’s cock and John wasn’t sure if Sherlock even had a chance to suck him before the sight of himself in Sherlock’s mouth and the feel of the other man’s lips made him come.

John’s eyes were closed, but in the silence that descended he heard Sherlock swallow before saying, “Trial number one appears to have been a success.”

Eventually, John found enough breath, and enough focus, to say, “The hallmark of any good experiment is repeatability.”

Sherlock’s low, appreciative chuckle cemented in John a very charitable view toward future experimentation.


End file.
